A Lover's Inculcation
by Ignis Cogitare
Summary: A one-shot companion series to Ronin's "A Lover's Quest" that details the lives of the nymphs prior to his story. Read that first. NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. Read and review please.
1. Embraced

**WARNING**

**This story may contain torture, gore, and other unsavory topics.**

**It is not recommended for those faint of heart or stomach.**

**This story was not created out of the authors interests, but as a reminder that the atrocities committed in this story are far from fictional. Many such actions are taken against fellow humans every day. I think it's awful, and I heavily condemn it.**

* * *

Sierra bounded through the clouds, light vapory wisps clinging to her nimble limbs. As a Nebulae, she of course enjoyed the clouds, but she felt she had a special bond with them. Something no one else had. The almost damp feeling of the vaporous matter held a special place in her heart. It was almost as if the clouds were more than gas, like the loving hands of ancestors long since passed away. She felt comfortable in the clouds, not that she had been anywhere else but within them.

The clouds were her home, and the home for her family, her twin sister Nimba, her parents, and the other nymphs that resided nearby. From the clouds she could look down and see the beauty of the world. She could see the oceans fan out upon their beds, the green and luscious land holding itself above the salty seas, a platform upon which all life could reside. Her mother had told her stories of the horrid creatures that swam beneath the seas and stalked through the trees.

She'd point out the ripples in the oceans blue depths, which she said were the wake of monsters lurking close beneath. She'd point out cleared forests, where she said that man had slain her dryad cousins to make room to lay his crops. She'd point out the glowing and grey splotches scattered throughout the land, where she said man had made great cities to facilitate their uncontrollable growth. And she pointed out great gashes and canyons, where giants had clawed the earth in their astronomical battles. She said that they would fight for days, heinous tyrants battling their own offspring. She said that the mountains had been thrown about by gods and giants, that the lord of the sea, Poseiden, had thrown one such mountain upon his foes. She said that the earth mother Gaea was evil and scheming, and working only in her own self interest, and that no gods could truly be trusted, nor their offspring. She said that all these fights happened long ago, and yet their effects remained to this day. She said that soon, it would all start over once again, and the world would be consumed by storm and fire. She said that only upon the clouds was safe.

I only believed her truly on the safety of the clouds. Many creatures may lurk in the ocean depths, but by no means does that make them monsters. The men who cut down great swaths of trees must have left the ones inhabited by dryads, as their were some trees still left. And if man was making such cities, then he obviously did indeed have control of his growth.

The gashes in the land she was less sure about. She thought they must have been the desperate attempts by a creature of old to recover something that was lost. She knew she had done the very same. The fights she doubted very much. The land was verdant and calm, not something she could envision ever hosting such horrid battles. Most likely, she was trying to scare her into never leaving the clouds. She didn't need to do that, she never wanted to leave. While the clouds hugging her always dissipated eventually, there were always more.

The clouds were not just a source of safety and assurance. They were a place to have fun. As she skipped along, her eyes darted around, searching for any clues as to the whereabouts of her sister, Nimba. They would spend hours frolicking and playing hide and seek in the white fluffy clouds as they were now, and it never got old.

It was the slightest thing that tipped her off. The tip of Nimba's toes protruded from a cloud, giving her away. She paused, and was preparing to jump into the cloud and grab her sister, when Nimba sprung from the cloud herself. Her sister sprinted off in the opposite direction, and she launched herself in pursuit.

At least, she would have, had a pair of scaly arms in leather grieves not reached out and grabbed her from behind. As she thrashed, she was pulled against the side of a chariot, her captor way to strong for her to escape. She heard the whiny of horses behind her.

"Nimba! Nimba!" She cried out, desperate for her sister to hear her and bring help. Nimba finally turned, and stood looking in shock and Sierra. Sierra adorned a joyous expression, before it morphed into horror as a bronze chariot pulled by two pegasi rose from within the clouds behind her sister. One of the two dracaena onboard reached over the sides and grabbed Nimba by the arms.

"NIMBA! HELP!" she screamed."NIMBA!

Nimba!

Nimba… "

* * *

"Nimba…" a voice permeated her consciousness, riding on the acrid odor of smelling salts held under her nose. "Look at your sister Nimba. Can't you see what you have done to her?"

Sierra thrashed against her restraints. Despite the leather straps being gently padded, they had still left dark bruises contrasting sharply her pale skin. A telkhine stood on the other side of the room, whispering sweet poison into Nimba's ears while holding her firmly by the wrists. The telkhine holding the malodorous salts withdrew them from her nose, and she drew in a wonderful, fresh breath of air before spitting on the telkhine's feet. It was only after she wasted the precious moisture that she realized the dryness of her throat and mouth. Her head pounded, whether from the dehydration they had forced upon her or the noxious gasses they had made her breathe she didn't know.

At that very time, a telkhine opened the reinforced door to the room, and stepped in, closing it behind him. He held a small mylar pouch and a large canteen.

"Sierra, my gods, you look terrible!" he spoke in an obviously facetious manner. "Here, you must have some water!" He tilted the canteen to her lips, letting a meager trickle of water flow down into her lips. Of course, he pulled it away too soon, and placed it on the floor before turning away.

"No…" She muttered, desperate for the hydration. He turned at the sound of her voice, his foot none too subtly moving to knock over the canteen as he turned.

"Oh my, I am _so_ clumsy!" He grinned, seemingly loving the despair in Sierra's face. He cackled, before tearing open the mylar bag with a crackling rip. The two sounds were almost identical. "Anyone want some jerky?"

He walked around the room, handing out a fistfull of jerky to both telkhines in the room, before returning to stand in front of Sierra. "Oh dear, there appears to be none left!" He rummaged in the bag, putting on what must have been his attempt at a pitiful face. "Wait, there is something left. Hold her mouth open."

The other telkhine moved to grab her jaw with both hands, it's long claws digging into her skin as it held her mouth open. The lead telkhine stopped his rummaging and withdrew a small white packet from the bottom on the jerky bag, grinning sadistically. She noticed blue text printed across the packet with a warning of some kind. He tore the packet open and sprinkled the powder within into her mouth.

Her eyes widened with horror as the powder began to draw the remaining liquid from her parched throat. "That is one of my favorite mortal creations. They call it 'desiccant'. They use is to absorb water in food, to prevent it from going bad. Of course, it is bad to eat, so they put it in this tough little package and put warning labels all across it. That didn't seem to stop you now, did it?"

With that he walked from the room, motioning for the other two telkhines to come with. As soon as they were gone, she spit as much of the water sucking powder from her mouth as she could, but the damage was done. It hurt to breath, to swallow, and her headache pounded harder and harder until despite the pleading of her sister to stay awake she succumbed to the darkness.

* * *

She didn't know how many months they spent training her and her sister. For the most part, they tortured her, the stronger one, and encouraged Nimba to blame herself for it. Occasionally though, they would flip the tables and torture Nimba. On those days Sierra would often scream until her throat went dry. But slowly, slowly she mellowed down. Despite how much she questioned herself, she couldn't figure out why she did. She had started to because faking it was the best way to make the pain stop. But now she wasn't so sure. She hadn't yelled at her captors in days, and it was starting to feel like she hadn't tricked them, and they had succeeded in their task of training her.

Whatever the case, the trainers seemed to believe they had succeeded. After untold months of training, she was finally to be given a master to serve. She paid little attention to who the master was, or where it was, or for what. All she knew was that she had to escape.

Later that week, she was brought to the island along with her sister Nimba and 4 other nymphs. As they walked up the beach to the mansion that loomed ahead, Nimba was chatting animatedly with a red haired dryad. As they approached the front of the house, the red head introduced herself. Her name was Rose, and Nimba had asked her to take care of Sierra. Sierra had no interest in actually exploring the house or getting familiar with it like the others, as she didn't plan on staying long. Regardless, she went with Rose and feigned interest in the lavish dwelling. It was as Rose investigated the kitchen that she slipped away.

Her feet thudded on the fine white sand of the beach as she sprinted to the ocean. Clouds and oceans were both water, so she would be fine. She lunged into the surf until her feet no longer touched the sandy ocean floor, and began to ineptly swim away from the island. At first, the process was tiring, but she slowly became more and more adept at swimming, until it felt natural to cycle her arms and kick her legs, propelling herself forward with great speed. The ocean's outgoing tide pushed her onward, as if the very sea wanted her to succeed, and she did in fact believe it did. _Lord Poseiden is smiling upon me_!

The island behind her became smaller and smaller as her hopes swelled. She would get to civilization, and she would get in contact with her parents. Then they could return and rescue Nimba and Rose and the other nymphs on the island from the cruelty of their future master. They could be together again, and she could spend her eternity chasing her sister in the clouds, or the other way around, and frolicking within the white wonderland with their family. Nothing could stop her now, not the dracaena and their chariots with pegasi that had captured her, not the telkhines that had spent countless months training her, not the lord of the slavers that she had only heard whispers of. She was free, free as the cloud above her, free as long as she kept herself going.

To do so, of course, she would have to pace herself. As her limbs were already feeling slightly fatigued, she flipped onto her back, and floated, relishing in the water. The ocean water lapped at her limbs and caressed her, gently embracing her like her clouds used to do. High above, her cirrus cloud stood. Despite that, it looked thinner than normal. She shook it off, it must just be her imagination. She had rested long enough, and it was time to return to swimming. This time, however, she was determined not to stop until her body begged her to. She could float on her back for as long as she needed to get her strength back, and so there was no reason to rest early.

She swam for what seemed to be hours, until she could barely flip onto her back to rest. She sighed in relaxation, until the sigh turned into a choked gasp as she gazed above. Her beautiful cloud, once a plate of wisps and streams and intertwining layers, was now just meager streak, marooned in the afternoon sky. She felt the weakness creep in all at once, paralyzing her. She tried to flip, but couldn't muster the strength to do so. She stared up in despair as the current slowly carried her out to sea.

"Nimba… I'm sorry… I'm so sorry," she muttered as the corners of her vision darkened.

Sierra no longer enjoyed the embrace of the sea. She no longer felt the nostalgia placed upon her of her childhood by the lapping ocean waves. Instead she focused only on the evanescing cloud above, darkness creeping upon it as it faded away.

Fade.

Dim.

Dwindle.

Gone.

* * *

**In any case, it's time to make a confession. Ronin lied to us. To us all. He's not leaving this week. In fact, he's not leaving till mid May. He totally didn't just get notified of that change this last week. He will, however, be taking a 5 week break from publishing. In his absence, I will be providing content.**

**Due to the way this works out, it's better for you, but it is actually more work for me. So do me a favor. Pop over to Ronin's profile, and join the discord with the code he has there.**

**-Ignis**


	2. Thorns

**WARNING**

**This story may contain torture, gore, and other unsavory topics.**

**It is not recommended for those faint of heart or stomach.**

**This story was not created out of the authors interests, but as a reminder that the atrocities committed in this story are far from fictional. Many such actions are taken against fellow humans every day. I think it's awful, and I heavily condemn it.**

* * *

Rose ran. She ran and swerved and bolted around corners. The walls leered out at her, trapping her, the beautifully consistent architecture serving only to obfuscate her path to Sierra, where she needed to be. She bolted up the set of stairs, only to freeze. Laying upon the step before her was a single, solitary red rose petal. It was hers, and she had been on this staircase before. Her panic had caused her to lose her way, and she nearly flung herself back down the stairs and bolted through a doorway. She panted and strained, her chest heaving as she drew in breaths of air, leaning against the broad floor to ceiling windows in the room she had stumbled upon. She could worry about cleaning the oil marks she left on the pristine glass later, but for now she had a more important mission.

It was at that very moment, as she stared through the glass, past the garden and out towards the sea, that she saw her. Sierra, resolutely splashing her way out to sea. She had been zoned out while the the slavers told of the mortal consequence of such an action. _No no no no no NO!_

Rose dashed to the nearest door she could find, sprinting out onto the garden pathway. Rocks and pebbles cut her feet, but she continued running, screaming, desperately vying with the stiff ocean breeze for Sierra's attention. She was almost to the end of the garden when Sierra's cloud finally dispersed. She skidded to a halt, limbs locked up in shock. Slowly, shakily, she sat down on the cold stones of the garden terrace, before leaning over to lie on them. Every bump and burr and rough edge of the masonry pushed easily through her chiton, digging into her skin. She had been tasked with one simple thing, and failed. _Why must this be her luck?_

She sobbed quietly, biting her nails and shuddering as the cold stones and warm sunlight lulled her into a teary sleep. The embrace of sleep brought no safe haven, but only memories.

Her small hands nimbly swathed the broken branch that had taken her so long to get to. A strong gust of wind had caught it, partially snapping the leafy appendage. It had taken hours of trials and tribulation at scaling the tree to finally reach it, but it had been worth it. Now that she was finished, the descent was much easier indeed. She held the roll of linen she had traded for from a fellow nymph tightly between her teeth, her svelte form gliding down the previously established route along the trunk. She had always enjoyed caring for things, a bit too much according to her mother. She could lose an entire day with ease tending to an animal who had fallen ill or injured, touching them up, doing whatever she could to mend their ailment.

It was at this very time she felt a slight tingle-someone, or something, had touched her rose bush, her life source. She slowly meandered through the forest, heading towards her bush. She might as well check it out, as she had nothing else to do at the time.

It was a good thing she did. Limping near the bush was a young tawny rabbit. She swooped forward, gently picking up the rabbit and placing it in the crook of a nearby tree's roots. The rabbit forepaw was soaked in blood, a rose thorn embedded in it's flesh. She gently stroked the injured creature, before pulling the thorn smoothly out as she had done with other animals. Blood began to well up from the cut at an increased rate now that the thorn had been removed. She quickly reached out to grab her linen wrap.

It was not a roll of cloth her hand landed upon. Instead, it was grabbed by a scaled arm, yanking her away from the frightened rabbit, and pushing her face down onto the ground. "Get the shovelsssss," a voice hissed above her head, and as two other dracaena began to dig up her tree her world dissolved.

A burning sensation in her mouth woke her up. Her mouth tasted of ash, and the hot coals they had put inside. The occurences of the previous hour slowly came flooding back. She had been in captivity for weeks when her emotions finally overcame her. She was sick of the guilt trips, sick of the taunting, sick of doing nothing but thrashing and kicking when they grabbed her. She had cursed out the telkhine that trained her, and spat on his feet as he exited her cell. That was a mistake. He had spun around, viciously backhanding her into unconsciousness, from which she now awoke.

She thrashed against her restraints, but to no avail except causing a few of the dracaena guards to chortle in their snake-like way. The telkhine standing in the center of the room seemed to notice her discomfort, standing from the fire he stoked in the middle of the cell. "Well now Rose. I don't think you get how thoroughly not okay it is for you to act the way you did. Spitting on the feet of your superiors, cursing their existence? Do you know how much of a disappointment you are to me? Do you? You should be ashamed."

Rose glared at him, and with a great heaving breath, she flung the hot coals from her mouth, straight into a puddle on the ground. He looked on with dismay, and she almost felt bad for acting as she did. Almost.

"Well…"he sighed, pushing a few coals from the fire with his stick, "I had given the ones you had some time to cool before putting them in your mouth, but now you've gone and spit them out. I can't use those anymore, so I suppose these will do." He bent down and grabbed a glowing coal with his gloved hand, quickly striding over. He used one hand to hold open her mouth, while with the other he placed the coal between her teeth.

She recoiled her tongue as it sizzled against the burnt wood, raw heat emanating from it into the rest of her mouth at an uncomfortable level.

"I found out a little while ago that mortals do this funny little thing with campfires. They hold this fluffy, candied root near the embers, and let it melt, then use it with some crackers and chocolate to make a snack. I think they call it 'smorts', but I can't remember. In any case, what I found interesting is that you don't even have to touch the things to the embers. The heat it emits into the air is enough to cook it on it's own, albeit slowly. That's what's happening to the tissues in you mouth right now. They are cooking, and if that coal stays in too long, we might take your flesh and make our very own failure-flavored smorts."

He gestured towards the door, and another telkhine dragged in two young cloud nymphs. They appeared gaunt, their skin almost seeming flaky, their hair which was most likely once silky smooth looking tattered and flat. Rose recognized them, they were Nimba and Sierra, they were brought in a couple days prior. The main telkhine grinned, and began pacing about the room.

"Do you know what happens when cloud nymphs are denied water for a day or two? They dry out, like raisins, or old scabs. It's very painful I hear. Now, I was trying to keep them hydrated, but I've been so distracted. Mainly by a certain dryad who DOESN'T KNOW WHEN TO SHUT UP AND COME TO GRIPS WITH HER PLACE IN LIFE!" His even, measured tone abruptly mutated into a vehemently projected shout. He seemed to take a few deep breaths, something Rose new all too well would cause her pain. The extra air would feed the trace of fire on the coal, keeping it hot.

"I'm sorry, I lost my temper. I must learn to control that." He stopped his pacing, and withdrew a canteen of water from his belt. "The funny thing is, yet again my attention is needed between you and these nymphs here. You see, you Rose have a burning hot coal in your mouth, and I would be inclined to guess that this water could come in awful handy for you. Then again, these two sister need it too. They look just awful. Difference is, I won't let them die. I'll just leave them on the brink until I need them. You, however, are a different story. You see, I can't seem to see you being a worthwhile slave. And, quite frankly, if I deem you unworthy, I'll be happy to move your cheery little rose bush from the dirt outside to a vase in the mess hall."

Her eyes widened in panic, something that didn't go unnoticed. "Now, I'll give you one last chance. I'm gonna give you the opportunity to choose who gets this canteen here, the sisters or you. Tilt your head up if you want it, to the side if you want them to get it. Oh, and that last chance I'm giving you? If you want to stay alive, you are gonna go ahead and tilt your head up."

Rose's heart raced. She couldn't leave those sisters to suffer, but she didn't want to die. She couldn't choose. That wasn't a fair choice. _Fair? Since when has life ever been fair?_ A voice spoke in her head. _Don't you think you deserve a second chance? Don't you think that's fair? Because here's your choice to make your life fair._

Trembling, she tilted her head upwards. The telkhine smiled, gesturing for Nimba and Sierra to be taken from the room. He stalked over, opening the canteen before pouring a cool stream of water over the coal in her mouth. It hissed and sizzled, steam billowing off it's surface, before he finally picked it out and threw it to the floor. She collapsed in relief, sagging against her restraints.

"Well now," he chuckled, "I guess we'll have to use someone else for our flower vase. You're back in the running Rose. And yet you seem so sad. I know what you're thinking, 'What ever could I have done to deserve such rotten luck?'. I'll tell you why. You ever heard of a lucky rabbit's foot?"

As he said that, he pulled a tawny rabbit's foreleg from his pouch, the beautiful fur coated in old, dried blood originating from a puncture wound deep into the foot. It was the rabbit she had been nursing when she got captured.

"YOU BLOODIED YOUR LUCK WITH YOUR OWN THORNS!" He screamed, and she shrunk back against the wall, whimpering. He gave a derisive snort, dropping the paw on the floor in front of her before walking out.

She tried so hard to make it up to Nimba and Sierra and all the other Nymphs she hurt. She tried to treat their injuries, but her steady, practiced hand was long gone. In the months that followed, she found relief only in the massages she could give to the guards.

The memories of the following months passed in a blur, until once again, she was lying on the cold masonry on the garden terrace, only this time she was not alone. Palírroia embraced her, the lean blue Oceanid rubbing her shoulder softly, murmuring reassurances into her ear, some saccharine, some hackneyed, but still soothing and pleasant.

Rose wasn't swayed by it though. She knew the truth. It wasn't some god that cursed her with her wretched luck. It was her own fault. She was the cause of all the misfortune that surrounded her.

Eventually, all would feel her thorns.

* * *

**Well now. That's the second chapter out. Read, review, and join the discord. Do it. Please. I need more people to ****torment**** converse with. Not much to say here, but let's all pray for Ronin's sleep schedule. It's awful, and it's really hard to ****irritate**** talk with him when he doesn't respond. **

**-Ignis**


	3. Slumber

**WARNING**

**This story may contain torture, gore, and other unsavory topics.**

**It is not recommended for those faint of heart or stomach.**

**This story was not created out of the authors interests, but as a reminder that the atrocities committed in this story are far from fictional. Many such actions are taken against fellow humans every day. I think it's awful, and I heavily condemn it.**

* * *

Nimba, like many young nymphs, didn't do many chores, nor did she think it right for her to. At least, she didn't use to. That had changed months ago, with the capture of her and her sister Sierra by the telkhine slavers. Now, she wasn't so sure.

The telkhines had, as much as she hated to admit it, taught her something. She was a free spirit, giddy, carefree. Sometimes, they would use Sierra and another nymph, Rose, to...convince her. But while Nimba was as she had described herself before, Rose was more so to an almost indescribable degree. So most of the time, they used Nimba and Sierra to convince Rose.

As with many other younglings, Nimba also did not like to like to go to bed. She did not want to sleep. At least, she used to. That too had changed months ago, with the forced realization of the glory of sleep. The first few days of her capture had gone as normal. She was fed meal at a rate that could only be described as pitiful. She was treated harshly, berated daily, but nothing she didn't expect of her captors. Every night, she went to bed on the rickety cot with it's meager blankets, and hay filled pillows.

It was upon one of these very nights that she first experienced the real cost of loss of sleep. Her blissful slumber, broken only by the occasional fit of Sierra in the bed adjacent to hers. She didn't even notice the lurching of her humble bed, the creak of the rusted cell door, the rasping of leather clad feet on the campered dungeon stones. She did notice it when she was unceremoniously dumped upon the floor of an unrecognizable room. Her eyes shot open nearly as fast as the clammy water upon the sunken floor permeated the fibers of her cotton garb. Blinding fluorescent lights blazed to life on the ceiling above, causing her to wince and squint her eyes. She waited for ages for the cell door to open, for people who threw her in to come back, to give her bed back, a blanket, anything.

Nothing happened. She lay curled in the highest, dryest corner of the room, and slowly drifted to sleep. It wasn't clouds that visited her in her sleep tonight. Tonight she was someone else. She looked upon her hands, sniffed at her reddish locks, and it came to her. She was Rose. And then she realized where she was. She was in an infirmary, and all around her nymphs and satyrs and nature spirits lay in clean white cots, all with battlefield injuries. With instincts she didn't know she had, she lept into action, bandaging cuts and stitching gashes, strapping on splints and cinching down tourniquets. She smiled as she reached the end of the row, Rose's skill was useful. She turned to observe her work.

She screamed. The pristine white sheets were littered with blood. And the patients...oh the patients. The splints were speared into the tender stomachs, the bandages wrapped tightly around their mouth and nose, the torniquet's rubber forming a noose around their throats, the neat stitches sealing their mouths and nostrils and eyes.

Nimba bolted awake, her chest heaving. A telkhine squatted in the middle of the room, hovering over a bucket and rag and a bowl of meal. "You've been rather obedient lately. If it weren't for that rebellious sister of yours I'd take that in stride. But doing that would be a fatal mistake for me, as nymphs in your situation are deceptive. You act all good and obedient around me, but that sister of yours plants a seed of rebellion in you. A seed that might germinate one day while you are serving your master. I have to make it…"

As he spoke, he drew a swipe of meal from the bowl, flinging the gummy substance against the wall, "...Stick. Originally, I was going to use this as a standard torture room. But one day while I was hunting a demigod with my friends I noticed something. The demigod never slept. Not for two weeks, until I finally had enough of stalking him and simply attacked him while he was awake. He killed some of my friends, but I got to ask him something that had been bugging me. 'Why don't you sleep, tasty demigod?' He gazed at me with an indifferent expression and said, 'If I sleep, the nightmares will come. I can't take that.'"

The telkhine chuckled, slashing through the air as if reliving cutting the boy's throat. "At the time, I thought he meant us. But now I realize the truth, and it is the very truth that you will have to face while in the room's walls cursed by Hecate herself. You have control. Sleep, or don't. But while you're awake, clean up in here. Knock on the door if you need more supplies."

And with that final note, he stood, and left. The lights on the ceiling glowed bright upon the warm room, and yet Nimba was left hugging her shivering form. She couldn't fall asleep. She couldn't go through that again. She couldn't, she wouldn't, she would clean the place to the last speck or smudge but she wouldn't fall asleep again. She quickly downed her slimy sustenance and got to work.

It took over 15 buckets of fresh water to finish scrubbing the walls and floor, and scrubbing to the point where her hands grew blistered and sore from the the soft rag, her knees were bruised and stained from resting on them for so long. And try as she might, she collapsed upon the floor.

The sound of armoured boots clicking on the tile floor awoke her. The telkhine from earlier was grinning down at her, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You know, I thought you were made of tougher stuff than that. Truth is, it ain't the room that's does this nightmare stuff to you. It's a potion that we put in your food. It's expensive, so I didn't put it in today because I thought your pathetic little cloud nymph willpower would be enough to power you through this task. Apparently not."

He motioned to someone outside the cell, and the sound of a rolling cart and clinking metal instruments echoed down the hall, through the cell door and into her ears. "You see, now that you know the truth about this, we'll have to resort to other methods to make an impression on you. It's a shame that spent so long cleaning this room, only for you to be the one to get it dirty again...hold her down."

Two dracaena surged into the room, grabbing her arms and pinning them to the warm tiled floor. The cart she had heard earlier rattled into the room, and from it he grabbed a leather bag. From it, he withdrew a small vial of some sort of cream, a pair of extra large gloves, a tongue depressor, and a scalpel.

"Unfortunately, I can't be leaving any major scars on you. That means I can't be doing anything too physically damaging. So I decided to do something else." With that, he pulled on the gloves, and before she could react, cut a deep gash in the tender skin of her upper arm. She cried out in pain, trying to free herself, but she only managed to incentivise the dracaena guards to tighten their grip. "Easy now, easy…"

He made a similar cut on the other arm, eliciting the same reaction from her. And then he put the bloodied scalpel back in the bag. "There, all done with the scary knife. The next part, however, should show you how expensive you are to us. We have already had to use a rather costly potion on you, and yet here we are with another." He opened the vial of gel, it's translucent orange projecting a warm amber light upon her face.

"This is a pretty special mix. It starts with honey, pure and untainted. Then we add the distillates of three of Medea's finest healing draughts, along with a pinch of unicorn horn shavings. But the final ingredient is what makes it really special. A healthy dose of poneratoxin, stolen from a bio lab in Texas. That's the same toxin in the stinger of the Bullet Ant, the most painful sting in the world."

With that, he scooped up a half-teaspoon sized glob of the mixture upon the tongue depressor, and smeared inside her cut, quickly repeating with the other arm. At first, nothing happened. The excruciating pain coursed through her body, flooding her bloodstream. The dracanae let go of her arms and she was left alone in the cell. She tried desperately to squeeze the burning cream out of her arm, but to no avail. The healing aspect of the cream had already sealed the cut with the gel inside, turning her formerly open wound into a lightly pink patch of skin. She writhed on the floor in agony for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes, until finally her mind succumbed to the pain and she blacked out.

When she awoke again, the pain in her arm was completely gone. The telkhine entered the room, placing her bowl of meal on the floor along with a fresh rag and bucket. Nimba spoke out this time. "You got rid of the gel you put in my arms. Why?"

The telkhine looked at her with a smile that seemed to be of either polite confusion or devilish satisfaction. "Why, I don't know what in Hades you're talking about. Must have been a dream, little nymph."

After he left, she looked at the bowl of meal. _What if it wasn't a dream?_ Reluctantly, she shoved the untouched food out the slot in the door. It wasn't worth it, and she had cleaning to do.

Cleaning and chores overtook her life from that day on. She worked hard, harder than she had ever worked before. It helped take her mind off the frequent nightmares that invaded her nights. She got assigned to an island with her sister and Rose and two other, more senior nymphs. The one named Palírroia took the lead. Sierra, on the other hand, seemed distant. She had spent the briefing period scowling at the trainer's feet, seemingly ignoring all around her. As Nimba needed to help Palírroia, she asked Rose to watch over Sierra, as she didn't want her doing anything stupid.

She could never have expected Sierra would try something so drastic so soon. It was Palírroia that finally put an end to her panicked search for Rose or Sierra. It was one look from her face that told Nimba all she needed to know. She stumbled forward, unconsciously clinging to Palírroia like her life depended on it. She cried, and screamed, and cried some more, until her tear ducts refused to give any more tears, at which point she quietly sobbed.

Her sister was gone. Her best friend. Her constant companion. Her kin that had stuck with her through the past few torturous months. And the last she had seen of her wasn't her loving smile, her cheerful grin, not even her fierce scowl of determined rebelliousness. The last she had seen of her sister was her broken, almost empty gaze as she tuned out the world around her.

She needed to do something. Something good, and as much of it as she could, for something unspeakably bad had just occurred. She tore herself from Palírroia's embrace, sprinting as fast as her lithe legs could carry her, into the house and straight for the supply closet. She grabbed the first cleaning supply she found, a bottle of glass cleaner, along with a rag, and sprinted to the nearest window. She burst into a room, instantly noticing one of the panes on the broad array of windows had a large smudge on it, a rose petal lying on the ground below it. She tossed the petal into the garbage, and began to clean the windows with vigor. She needed to make everything perfect. She would not allow any more unhappiness to befall any and all residents of galínios. She would make things better.

Things didn't get better until Perseus, her master, arrived. She had been expecting a cruel, vituperative lord with none of their well being any of his concern. He was the polar opposite. His gentle words and few soft kisses to her forehead filled her with glee.

She spent every waking moment pursuing perfection in servitude. It was only on rare occasions that she would allow something to distract her from her chores. Palírroia failing to show for her morning rounds was one such occasion. It was the morning after the head nymph had spent the day with master at the hot springs, and Nimba found her lying upon her bed exhausted. "Palírroia, is there anything I can do to help?" She asked, her voice a mix of concern and hopefulness.

"Ah… Nimba… I need you to give Khione her breakfast for her today." She muttered tiredly, seemingly in a stupor. "Would you do that for me?"

Nimba nodded excitedly, and rushed from the room, headed for the kitchen. Such a duty was something reserved for the head nymph and the head nymph alone. It was a massive responsibility. She would make her master proud today. Recently acquired breakfast in hand, she raced into the dungeon where Khione was kept, flinging open the door to her cage, lost in her enthusiasm.

A flash of blue scorched her eyes and a deadly chill ripped through her body, and for the first time in many months, no nightmares plagued her slumber.


	4. Behold

**WARNING**

**This story may contain torture, gore, and other unsavory topics.**

**It is not recommended for those faint of heart or stomach.**

**This story was not created out of the authors interests, but as a reminder that the atrocities committed in this story are far from fictional. Many such actions are taken against fellow humans every day. I think it's awful, and I heavily condemn it.**

* * *

Thŷella was a sight to behold, or so she was told. Rich, crepuscular purple skin covered her body, and lustrous argent hair flowed from her head onto her shoulders in gentle waves. She was, after all, the rarest of breeds, a bastard child of a cloud nymph and an ocean deity. Not that she had ever known either of them, of course. Instead, she had grown up in a much different environment indeed. Thŷella had instead known only the rough touch of the gruff dracaena and telkhine slave trainers and the angelic, gentle touch of Palirroia, a fellow nymph who was only a few years older than her.

Despite this, Palirroia served the position of her older sister, teaching her the do's and don'ts, the ins and outs of life as a slave trainee. A slave trainee. As much as the meaning of those words ought to have bugged her, she never fully felt that there was anything wrong with that. Not that she had known anything else. The slavers were relatively kind, they fed her well, but not extravagantly, they kept her nourished and healthy, as most parents would.

They brought her up, and as she grew, she brought her childhood curiosity with her. As a child, she had always wondered about the why's and how's of the world, and what the sky was like, or the ocean, or what some of the foods that the guards ate tasted like, regardless of how unappetizing they may seem. She wanted to know why her "developed" body, caused by her nourished, comfortable upbringing compared to the other nymphs, made her supposedly more valuable. Normally, this was something that Palirroia tended to. On the time where Thŷella stole some of a guard's food to try it out, as she had always wanted to, Palirroia took the blame, saying she "had not been watching best she should."

Watching turned out to be a trouble for both of them. Palirroia could not, between seeing to the needs of other nymphs and performing her chores, monitor Thŷella as thoroughly as she needed to keep the young crossbreed out of trouble. Thŷella, on the other hand, watched too closely. She watched all that went on, and there were two things that piqued her interest greatly. Every once and awhile, one of the nymphs would leave. They would not come back, not in a few days, or weeks, or even in a few months. They were gone forever. But that wasn't the main object of her curiosity. There were many reasons for that. Most likely they were being sold, or maybe transferred. No, what really called out to the curiosity nestled deep within her soul was a very specific door.

She had no name for "the door", and so she thought of it as just that. Her limited exposure to it made it all the more enticing, as she only got to see it occasionally while cleaning the halls, as well as the curious actions of the powerful player that interacted with it. The head telkhine himself was the only one who went into that door, and he was always on edge, snooping around, carefully locking the door behind himself and only opening it up enough for him to get through. As much as she yearned to learn the meaning of it, she could not.

At least, that was the truth, until one fateful day. The head trainer was assigning them their daily tasks when one of the younger subordinates approached him, his hand trembling as he held a piece of paper out to the head trainer. He snatched it from the trembling apprentice, who promptly bolted from the room. The trainer read it, before a scowl appeared on his face, unconsciously crushing the paper note into a small ball. He muttered under his breath, cursing heavily, throughout which Thŷella could make out one name he seemed to despise. _Ashe_. The trainer stomped out of the room, and didn't return until the next day. He still seemed distraught, pacing as he read his instructions, cursing both us and anyone around him, namely the dracanae guards, for the lack of work we did the day prior. Despite this, Thŷella was ecstatic. Her area included the door, and maybe today she could glean further information about it.

As she drew within 20 yards of it, the main telkhine guard stalked past her, muttering a comment on her needing to resoak her mop. He unlocked the door, flung it open, and slammed it shut behind him. She had washed the floor all the way to the door, and a bit past it, when a crucial piece of information came to the forefront of her mind. There had been no click after the door was closed. In his rush, the telkhine had left it unlocked. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she dropped the mop and ran into the door herself.

It was hundreds of yards of claustrophobic tunnel, dimly lit by greek fire torches, before she heard the first scream. She froze, listening. Again the screams rang out, and a battle broke out inside her mind, logic vs curiosity, life vs knowledge. As always, her curiosity won out, smothering her fear in a thick layer of investigative exuberance. She traversed the little remaining hallway as quickly and quietly as she could, and peered into the room at the end. As her eyes traversed the volume, she froze.

Against the far wall was a massive brick oven, with a chimney going up to and through the dungeon ceiling. A large sled mechanism was positioned within it, a six foot long metal tray ready to be pushed into the glowing inferno at any time. Stacks of wood and boxes of coal lined the right wall. And on the left hung the nymph who had disappeared only a few days prior, chains dangling from the ceiling as the head telkhine indulged himself in the most carnal of acts. As she watched on, he tore into the tender flesh of her shoulder. He continued this for many minutes, maybe even half an hour, devouring the flesh of the nymph and ingurgitating her blood, every time he swallowed the look of carnal glee passing over his face at his sanguinary acts. Finally, he was done, and he carried the remains of the nymph across the room, throwing them onto the tray before shoving it into the oven.

His smile instantly fell when he looked across the room, Thŷella's effulgent hair displaying her presence clear as day in the dimly lit room. He surged forward faster than she could react, clawed hands digging into her arm as he dragged her away. He locked the door behind himself, and dragged her past a set of guards. "I'm going to the operating room. Bring Palirroia." They looked at him, sinew and blood still dripping from his maw. "NOW!"

He dragged her into the operating room, and strapped her to the table. Shortly after, Palirroia was brought in, held by two dracanae guards. "Keep them here, I am going to go cool off before I damage the merchandise." And he stormed out of the room. It was nearly an hour later that he finally returned, a jar of green liquid in his hands. He stepped over to the table, looming above Thŷella.

"What I have here is drakon acid. Extremely corrosive, and extremely painful compared to other standard acids." He held down Thŷella's head with one hand, and carefully poured a drop into one eye, and then the other. Thŷella screamed. Unlike the other nymphs, she had never been tortured before. She began to hyperventilate, her heart pounding in her chest so hard it hurt. And the pain in her eyes… it was indescribable. Nothing, however, compared to the horror of the telkhine's face fading away, to be replaced by nothing but whiteness.

"NO! You can't! You'll blind her!" Palirroia sobbed.

"Really my dear? That's kinda the point." The telkhine sneered as he poured another two drops. "I will tell you something interesting about drakon acid though. I wondered for the longest time how they were able to withstand their own acid, when even steel melted before it. It turns out that the acids can't eat through fat. So here's what's gonna happen. This acid will slowly eat through her eyeball, pooling in the padding of fat that surrounds it. It'll finish off her eye, and then start to work its way through the optic nerve, guided by the layer of fat padding, until it reaches her brain and kills her. Unless, of course, you ask nicely. If you do that, I suppose we could settle for wiping her memory. If you didn't want this, you should have watched her closer."

It was a full minute before Palirroia's answer rang through her hazy, pain addled senses. "Wipe her memory. Please."

Thŷella was a sight to behold, or so she was told. Rich, crepuscular purple skin covered her body, and lustrous argent hair flowed from her head onto her shoulders in gentle waves. That was what her sight instructor told her. She had been in a coma for most of her younger life, a byproduct of the conflicting nature spirit and divine magic resulting from her birth. He never quite explained that part to her full satisfaction. Regardless, he was kind, and gentle, and very helpful. As far as she knew, she was the only blind nymph in the slave trainer's possession. That knowledge, at least according to the definition of the word, should have been at the least disgruntling for her. Instead, she found that her instructors words on the matter rung true as day. Being a slave was in many ways a gift. She would never have to struggle with the purpose of her life like so many others had to, for it was already determined. She was given the gift of certainty. Thŷella wasn't completely sure about that. She didn't know if she fully believed that. There was still a nagging doubt in her mind that she hadn't seen the other option, that maybe she would enjoy it despite the stryfe of choosing her own destiny.

It was while she massaged the shoulders of her sight instructor that she almost voiced her thoughts. She probably would have, had he not beat her to it. "Thŷella, you are an amazing nymph. And while I love the way the electricity flows across your fingers, I can't help but feel it would be so much better helping me out somewhere else." She heard the click of his belt coming undone, and the slight _shff_ sound as his pants slid to the floor.

"Oh… Master Dolion, I'm so very sorry, but I don't feel like that's something I'm either comfortable doing or that we should be doing." He sighed heavily.

"I was afraid you'd say that." He turned faster than she could react, and clasped a hand over her mouth. He pushed her to the ground, the padded floor muffling her cries for help and barely allowing her to breathe. He ripped off her chiton, and positioned himself.

Dolion had taught her to see without her eyes. She could hear things, smell them, even pick up minute vibrations in the floor. She very clearly felt the door slamming open, and the quick, heavy footfalls approaching her. She heard the rasp of a blade being drawn from it's leather sheath. She heard the woosh of air, and the sickening crunch as the blade nestled it's edge in the crack between vertebrae and hacked through the connective tissue and spinal cord, the tearing sound as the blade split apart the soft tissue. And then Dolion's head came crashing down onto her back, the warm, sticky blood flowing across her. She should have been disgusted. She should have felt disgusted at her closest friend, besides Palirroia, betraying her.

Instead she just felt empty. Because as much as she loathed to admit it, Dolion was right. She wouldn't be able to pave her own path in life. Dolion had, and now his blood soaked the foam matts on the floor. No, she would serve those that had saved her from an unthinkable fate with vigor. She would do her duty, as that was the only safe way in life.

The day finally came when she was sold. As she stepped onto the warm sand beach of her new home, she was filled with gleed. Thŷella would serve her master till the end of time, and she cared not for the cost. She would do what it took to please him, to keep him happy, she had to, she must. After all, she was her master's alone to behold.


	5. Sing

**WARNING**

**This story may contain torture, gore, and other unsavory topics.**

**It is not recommended for those faint of heart or stomach.**

**This story was not created out of the authors interests, but as a reminder that the atrocities committed in this story are far from fictional. Many such actions are taken against fellow humans every day. I think it's awful, and I heavily condemn it.**

* * *

Ashe didn't know what it was about singing to the birds. She would sing, and then the birds would sing back. They always did, always for her voice. She would strive to emulate their beauty, she would try for hours on end. It was a process that could sometimes take hours, but many of the song birds seemed to have great patience with her, engaging for hours on end as she slowly got closer and closer to their perfect tones. But then she would have to rest, or they would have to leave to attend to their young or feed themselves or simply because another bird chased them off. She was getting better though. She had to be, this had been something that she had been working on since she was a young child, blabbering incoherent tunes from her uncoordinated mouth. Her fellow dryads said that she was beautiful beyond compare, a prodigy, the epitome of the perfect nymph.

She wasn't so sure. She knew she had a figure that was unusually… curvy compared to the lithe figure of the average nymph, and not many could sing as well as she, but so many others seemed to be able to perfect their craft, and enter into a mirth of social gatherings without any self doubt. She was not like that. She still was far off from the pure and precise tones of the birds that sang to her, and she had yet to sing back with such prowess. And so, she sat upon a crook in her ash trees expansive branches, and harmonized with the birds that rested on the bows adjacent to her. She would do this until she perfected her craft, like so many others, or until she two was chased away like the birds two which she sang.

It was the latter option that came to fruition first. She had just climbed into her tree when a Bolas flew from the adjacent tree.

She crashed to the forest floor below her tree, the roots of her own tree cracking her ribcage and driving the breath from her lungs. Hands in rough leather gloves shoveda wad of cloth into her agape mouth, then strapped a bandanna around her head to keep it in. She rolled backwards, and would have sighed in relief if it wasn't for the sight looming above her head. The grinning face of a telkhine loomed above her, filled with a victorious glee at his capture.

He looked up to the tree from where the Bolas had been thrown. "Great throw, she's ours now." His voice softened into a low growl as he turned his head back to face her. "It's time to come home, pretty bird. It's time to come home." And before she could think, a bag was secured around her head and her world plunged into darkness, and she was whisked away into the tartarean abyss of the slave trainer's lair.

Ashe wasn't sure what the trainers expected from her. They seemed to think that she would, upon receiving a poor attempt at a guilt trip, mild starvation, and some light beatings, that she would roll over, show her belly, and become a docile, obedient slave. How naive they were. She repeatedly voiced her thoughts with the other nymphs, and yet none of them seemed to fully value her ideas, to fully agree with them. They all came from forests and oceans and clouds like her, ripped from their home, bar the few that were born into slavery. They all wanted nothing more than to be free. Despite this, they shied away at any mention of rebellion against the slavers, responding with hushed agreement as they cautiously glanced over to the guards. Months passed, and they seemed to warm to her ideals. They even occasionally voiced their own. She was getting to them, she was sure of it. It was only a matter of time before they could join together and escape.

The next morning she was dragged from her cell, kicking and screaming as her skin scraped along the course dungeon stone. She was pulled along for hundreds of yards down winding passageways and up stairs by her dracanae guard, before finally, he stopped at a door, opened it, and threw her inside. The room she entered was a beautiful contrast to the dank, dark and dreary cells and torture rooms she was used to. Vast murals of masters and slaves, all content in their places, broad smiles plastered across their faces. It looked so natural, she couldn't help but to think that maybe such a thing could happen. No. Shaking her head, she dismissed the atrocious thoughts from her mind, and stood to observe the contents of the room before her. The floor was completely made of soil, a deep rich and healthy brown, with little bits of vegetable matter strewn throughout. High above her, a beautiful glass ceiling stretched from wall to wall, glowing sunlight shining down on the main attraction of the massive room. Planted in the middle of the room was her ash tree, her life source. They had moved the colossal tree to the prison with her.

"Amazing, isn't it?" A telkhine, a rather high ranking one by the looks of him, had stepped into the room without her noticing. He held a mug of tea that filled the room with the delectable aroma of cinnamon. "The tradditional methods of torture weren't working on you. Your previous trainer wanted to throw you out, as in the space of many many months he has yet to get you to even budge. However, your...figure, rare as it is among nymphs, is too valuable for us to simple slaughter you like we did with some of your previous cellmates."

His cold words reminded her of some of the other disobedient nymphs that had shared a cell with her. They had disappeared long ago. "What...What is this, slaver?"

"Do you know how cinnamon is made, Ashe? It is made stripping the bark of a very special tree." With a wave of his hand, all the nymphs of her cell walked through the door, each holding a long, sharp blade with with handles on each end. "I figured we'd perform a demonstration of sorts. Although we shall not procure cinnamon from your ash tree, I'm sure you shall yield something much, much better. Begin."

As the nymphs began to walk towards the tree, she called out. "Wait! What are you doing? You all have blades, you can defeat this filthy telkhine and we can be free!"

One of the nymphs turned to her, a murderous glare on her eyes. "Do you know what your disobedient preachings in the middle of the night have brought upon us? DO YOU? We were beat for that. For your inane ideas that we should rebel. We do this, and the slavers favor is ours. That's something worth way more than any petty thoughts of rebellion."

Ashe's face fell. "Someone told on us...some betrayed us... One of you is a traitor..."

The telkhine chuckled, reminding Ashe of his presence. "One of them? You're funny, pretty bird. They all did. One by one they all spilled the beans. Not that it matters now."

Ashe turned to her fellow nymphs, her jaw dropped in shock, before it closed into a grimace of resolute fury. She had just started to rush forward to attack her cell mates when the first strip of bark was cut from her tree. She stopped, pain flaring through her. Then another strip, and another, until she collapsed on the ground, screaming as it felt like her very skin was peeled off.

Hours later, she had hardly noticed that the nymphs had finally finished peeling all the bark from her once gorgeous tree, leaving the strips discarded on the floor. She didn't even notice the nymphs oiling the tree, then leaving. The telkhine leaning over to speak to her finally broke hey from her pain induced stupor. "Ready to behave, pretty bird?"

In response, she spit a wad of sap in his face. "Very well." He withdrew a Zippo from his pocket, held it to the nearest branch, and lit it. Within seconds the entire tree was engulfed in flames.

Ashe wasn't sure at what point her vocal cords snapped. All she knew was her agonized cries turned to erratic breaths as she writhed on the floor. The flames bloomed upward, staining the glass with soot. After what seemed like an eternity, the glass panes shattered under the heat, leaving glass and rain to come cascading into the room. It took an hour for the showers to put out the fire.

One thing was for sure. There would be no magnificent Phoenix rising from this Ashe. For once, the beautiful bird had not escaped his immolation, and all that was left was a scraggly, beaten down Raven.

She was healed, and brought back to her cell, every step sending bolts of pain through her body. She wished they had just left her to die. The vicious beating laid upon her by the other nymphs was worse than anything the slavers had ever given her. Whether it actually was, or it was her now overly sensitive skin that caused it to be so, she didn't know. Or care.

On the third day, she crawled to the guards. "I'll do it...I...I'll sing for you." Their faces split into grins, and before she knew it, she was brought before the telkhine that burnt her tree. She stood, shivering, and gathered herself. She brushed back her hair, smoothed her dress and began.

She rasped out a single line, and stopped. Again, she tried, only for her singing voice to instead come out as a painful, hoarse whisper. She tried, again and again. _No… she couldn't sing… no… _The telkhine frowned, stood, and with no regard for the pain it caused her, threw her over his shoulder and took her, fighting all the way, and brought her back to one of the original torture rooms. He strapped her down tightly to the lightly padded table, and picked a hook from a tray while grinning. "Yes indeed, tweety bird, you will sing for me."

And with that, he held open her mouth and stuck the hook deep within her throat, scraping along the tender, mucus covered flesh. And sing she did, for the hour it took for him to be satisfied. Finally, he poured a potion down her throat, and for the first time in what felt like forever she breathed without green blood bubbling from her mouth.

Her saving grace came one day in the form of an oceanid named Palírroia. Ashe had just been transferred into her group, and it didn't take long for the ocean nymph's true value to come to light. It was during cleaning the mess hall that she once again rebelled. She needed to, they couldn't make her be the only one to suffer. Grabbing a can of salt from the cupboard, she poured it into the broth bubbling on the stove. It was only hours later that the chief chef burst through the door to their cell, and was marching towards Ashe when Palírroia stepped in his way. "It was me sir. I did it."

Ashe wasn't sure if the fact that they dragged a willing Palírroia to a beating for something Ashe did, or if it was the fact that they knew very well Palírroia didn't do it that caused the most disgust in her. She supposed they formed disgust of two types for that experience, for herself and for the trainers. Regardless, she started feeling disgust very often after that. Palírroia's selflessness made sure of that.

It seemed fitting that her saviour would come with her to the island where they would serve their new master. Palírroia seemed dedicated to serve her master, and adamantly hoped for a kindred lord. Ashe felt no such longings. She would serve, she would clean, but their master would not be nice. In the months she had spent under Palírroia's wing, her voice had come back. She vowed that her master would never hear her singing. That was a beauty she reserved for the birds alone. As she grew acquainted with the island, she found her life source, her Ash tree located in the forest. Slowly, she trekked to it, and climbed up. Every brush with the forest and eventualy her barkless tree, scarred from its torture, sent jolts of pain through her body. Finally, she reached the normal crook upon which she used to rest. At least once before her master came, she would secure a song between her and the songbirds she saw all across the island. She filled the air with her enchanting words and pulchritudinous melodies.

For the first time in her life, no birds came to sing.


End file.
